


Wolf father at the door, you don't smile anymore

by Resri



Series: Silver Linings [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Dogs, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resri/pseuds/Resri
Summary: When Daud ended up adopting Billie after the case was closed (in their favor; after his impassioned speech some jury members had to dab at their eyes), his father laughed at him, and bought Billie a puppy. She named him Muffin. Muffin soon grew into the most imposing beast of a wolfhound either of them had ever seen. Muffin was also the softest fool when his family was concerned. No monstrosity with teeth like knives should be so goddamn loving. Daud had literally gotten thrown to the floor because the dog had been just so happy to see him after a long day. It was tragic in a way, he had mused, lying on the carpet while fifty kilogram of dog slobbered all over him.
Relationships: Daud & Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster
Series: Silver Linings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1486691
Comments: 11
Kudos: 35





	1. Child of woe, keep holding on

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this took about a month longer than I promised, and I'm very sorry. Life happened, I'm back on the job market and writing applications is still as gruelling as last year XD  
I hope you guys enjoy this, there are so many more ideas I have for this AU.
> 
> Note:  
I know next to nothing of law, and have done no research whatsoever, so please forgive me :D

In the Rudshore household, there was a rule that Daud had made and that Billie enforced. It was the "Nobody but me opens the door" rule. It was old, from a time when it had only been Daud and Billie. Now, Billie didn't follow the rule like Daud had meant it, namely that only Daud opened the door when somebody unexpectedly knocked on it. She interpreted it more like "Nobody but me (Billie) opens the door until I (Billie) have checked there isn't a murderer on the other side. Only then Daud may proceed." These differing interpretations of the rule had been a point of contest between the two of them ever since the incident that had prompted its institution in the first place. 

It happened when Billie was nine. She and Daud lived in a little two bedroom apartment in Drapers Ward. She'd been adopted almost one and a half years ago, after the case Daud had been her lawyer in. (It was pro bono. She had been a street urchin, and had bitten off the finger of a Serkonan diplomat who had a habit of beating kids. His bad luck he’d gone after the wrong one on that fateful day). Rudshore senior had told Daud not to touch this case with a ten foot pole. Daud had reminded him that twenty years earlier, Rudshore senior had been in quite the same situation, faced with an angry street kid in a shit load of trouble in need of a good lawyer and a dentist. 

"Fine, alright, we'll take it. Let me warn you though, I remember what a handful _you_ were."

When Daud ended up adopting Billie after the case was closed (in their favor; after his impassioned speech some jury members had to dab at their eyes), his father laughed at him, and bought Billie a puppy. She named him Muffin. Muffin soon grew into the most imposing beast of a wolfhound either of them had ever seen. Muffin was also the softest fool when his family was concerned. No monstrosity with teeth like knives should be so goddamn loving. Daud had literally gotten thrown to the floor because the dog had been just so happy to see him after a long day. It was tragic in a way, he had mused, lying on the carpet while fifty kilogram of dog slobbered all over him. 

Yes, Daud had been warned when adopting Billie. Not only by his father, but by everyone else who held the misconception that Daud gave a flying fuck about their opinions. It wasn't like he didn't remember his own youth, how he had punched and kicked his way through highschool and everybody that looked at him funny. So it wasn't really surprising that Billie, spitting mad at the drop of a dime, would get in trouble for fighting in school. That didn't mean it was any easier. Or that Daud knew how to make it better. So here he sat, in the principal's office while a sullenly glaring Billie was waiting outside, listening to the math teacher explain how his stick figure thin nine year old had tackled a thirteen year old boy to the ground for pushing one of her friends around. Then she had given him a split lip. Daud was impressed, since he had seen the tall boy sitting as far away from Billie as humanly possible while remaining in front of the office. No small feet, but Billie had managed. He was well aware that he shouldn't be, though. He was a lawyer these days, and fought his battles with words, not with fists. Didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a nice punch thrown. 

The boy's mother was out for blood while the principal tried to appease everyone, since "we know the unfortunate circumstances young Miss Rudshore grew up in before her adoption. Some things have to be excused, although this time she went a little far."

"She nearly broke my boy's jaw!" the mom shrieked. 

"It was a split lip, not an attempt on his life,” Daud grumbled. “Maybe your boy should learn not to pick on kids half his size, then he wouldn't get into the awkward situation of getting beat up by one."

In her anger, she gasped for air like a stranded fish. Finally, she pressed out, “I see where the girl gets her attitude from.” 

"Could we please keep this civil? We have to be good examples for our children," the principal admonished gently. 

"Tell that to Rudshore and his brat!" she shrieked. “This is what happens when you let street kids into an elite school like ours."

_I'm a lawyer,_ Daud reminded himself. _I don't solve my problems with fists._ He took a deep breath. Then another. The principal and the maths teacher looked at him worriedly. Finally, Daud said in the driest tone possible, "You are completely right. When you let street kids into this school, they act like normal, decent human beings and protect their friends from snobby bullies that don't get enough attention at home. That's what happens."

He turned from the red faced mother to the principal. 

"I will keep Billie home for the rest of the week and make sure that she knows that fighting isn't acceptable. I expect the same goes for the boy, since he also fought,” Daud said while getting out of his chair. “Does that sound fair?" 

“I- yes, I believe that is a-” the principal was cut off by the mother’s enraged sputtering, but before she could rope them into an even longer argument, Daud stopped her with an, “Excuse me, but I’m due in court soon. Good day,” and left the office. Billie and the boy both looked up when he stepped into the hallway, the mother’s seething very audible. Daud motioned to his surly kid, who got up without a word and fell into step beside him. They remained like that all the way to the parking lot and out onto the street. Only after leaving the school far behind did Daud break the tense silence. “You did good helping your friends, but fighting is a no-go. You can’t do something like that again.”

"But he deserved it!" Billie exclaimed from the back seat, glaring daggers at him through the rear view mirror.

"Lots of people deserve to be punched in the face, that doesn't mean you can go around doing it." 

"Why not?! Somebody should!"

"Because then you'll end up being the di-dingbat that deserves to get punched in the face! Believe me, Billie, you always have to take one more than you dole out, and the last one hurts the most." 

He spoke from personal experience, though the metaphor might be a little over her head still. As long as she didn't have to end up where he was before Rudshore senior had found him to understand, it didn't matter. 

"The principal likes you, but if you keep fighting in school, he'll have to throw you out at some point."

"I don't care," Billie grumped. 

"Oh yeah? What about your friends, huh? You won't see Mishka and Quinn every day anymore." 

That seemed to give her pause. She kept quiet for the rest of the drive, arms crossed and dark gaze directed out the window, silently seething. Daud let her be. Billie didn’t even ask why they weren’t going home, and when they passed Tower Bridge Station, she could probably guess where they were headed. Daud parked and turned off the engine, then gave his kid a long look over his shoulder. 

“I need to go into work.”

“I figured.”

He sighed, but continued. “It’s going to be a while. If we’re lucky, you can stay with Miss Wooster again. Can you behave?” 

At the mention of Miss Wooster, the receptionist of the Tower, Billie seemed to come out of her gloom a little. The long time front desk clerk had a soft spot for kids (even bad behaved ones), and since Daud had adopted one of those, she also had a soft spot for him. When Daud couldn’t find a babysitter and had to go to court, he would sometimes drop Billie off with her, and she’d proceed to feed her candy, help with her homework and find ways to make filing documents a fun activity. The arrangement made everybody involved happy. 

“_Yes_!” Billie declared, and hopped out of the car. Daud followed with a bemused headshake. Just as they entered the lobby of the Tower, somebody called out, “Rudshore!” and Daud invardly cringed. It was none other than Delilah Copperspoon. They had been in the university of natural philosophy studying law at the same time, but two semesters apart. She’d been hired by Brigmore and partners right out of uni while Daud had been working in Serkonos for a few years before returning to Dunwall and starting at Rudshore and partners. She was a witch, both in the courtroom and at the negotiating table. Daud knew that firsthand from the one time both their firms had to negotiate a multi million coin contract on behalf of their respective clients. While the partners had done most of the talking, her bosses had given her enough of a leash to nearly hang their rivals by. Daud had worked through many a night to salvage that. He could respect her, but he didn’t fucking like her. 

“Copperspoon,” he greeted, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It made her smirk in that superior way of hers. 

“I heard you are the defense attorney of Sergeant Heyburn. Sounds like a tough one.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure,” she said in the most condescending way possible. “With you as his lawyer, maybe I should drop by and leave my card for when he undoubtedly has to appeal.” 

Before Daud could fire anything back, Billie decided to get involved. While she may not grasp completely what Delilah was insinuating, she understood that he was being talked down to perfectly well, and was ready to fight in a split second. The same way as this morning, Billie was fiercely protective of what she considered hers, be it her things or her friends or whatever the hell she considered Daud to be. So she exclaimed loudly, “Leave Daud alone, you bitch!” 

“Oh my god, kid, language!”

“Well, who is this?” Delilah asked sweetly, and completely unbothered by the insult. She was met with Billie’s stormy glare and her petulant, “None of your business!”

“Charming,” Delilah commented drily. “A case of yours?”

“None of your business,” Daud echoed, and began shuffling Billie along. “I have places to be, Copperspoon, so if you’ll excuse us.” 

She only snorted and gave a wave that looked like she swatted some annoying fly away. 

“I don’t like her,” Billie commented when they were out of ear shot, and Daud nodded sagely down at her. 

“Good instincts. She’s a witch, after all.”

“Really?” Billie asked excitedly. 

“Yeah, so don’t you tell her any secrets,” Daud whispered, and held his pinky out to Billie, who grabbed it with her own, wearing a very serious expression on her face.

“Never, I swear!”

After their little pact, Billie was settled with the receptionist, and Daud hurried to the courtroom. In front of it, he found his client. Sergeant Jack Heyburn of the City Watch was a dirtbag. He was being accused of several counts of negligence, being drunk on duty, and insubordination. If he was found guilty today, he'd go to jail. If Daud managed to play up the incompetence over contempt angle, he'd simply be out of a job, since not all instances had substantial evidence. Nonetheless, a not guilty verdict was practically impossible, mostly because Heyburn wasn't not guilty. Both options were not to Heyburn's liking, which he had stated, often and loudly, in every meeting with his lawyer. Daud had told him to shut up and be sober and on time for the trial. As he neared his client now, it seemed as if the idiot had managed that, at least. 

"Alright. You remember the game plan, right? You don't say a word, not a single peep, under any circumstances. Is that clear?"

"Yeah yeah, crystal. I better get my money's worth, Rudshore."

_You better hope you don't get what you deserve, you goddamn moron_, Daud thought. Aloud, he said dryly, "One thing you shouldn't do right before your trial is threaten your lawyer."

Heyburn laughed, "That wasn't a threat, just making conversation. Don't take everything so personally all the time," and clapped Daud on the shoulder roughly. Daud resisted the urge to reciprocate the gesture as hard as he could, and lead his client into the courtroom. 

~

Heyburn lost his job in the City Watch, was on parole, had to go to rehab, and was sentenced to community service. He wasn't going to jail, though, so Daud booked it as a win. Heyburn did not think so. He kept stumm while the verdict was read, mostly because Daud ground his heel into his foot and quietly repeated, "Shut up," about fifty times. Once they were outside, though, he made a grab for Daud, who swiftly outstepped him. 

“Rudshore,” he growled, but Daud cut him off.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Heyburn. You got away better than you probably deserve. Use this chance and clean up.”

“Clean up?! This is not what I hired you for!”

“You hired me to represent you. I’m not capable of wielding dark magic to get you out of the hole you dug yourself, I can only get you the best deal for your situation, and this is it.” 

“I’m not doing this rehab shit!”

“What you’re doing now isn’t my problem, just be prepared to deal with the consequences of violating parole.”

“Fuck! I’m not paying you for this fuckery, either!”

“Then you’ll have another lawsuit on your hands soon enough. Goodbye.” With these words Daud turned and started marching over to the front desk. Heyburn made to follow, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed the security guard eyeing him suspiciously after their heated discussion. Instead, he made his way to the front door and left, fuming silently.


	2. Child of all, lend a mending hand

Billie had calmed down in her time with Miss Wooster and didn’t push her luck on the way home. The drive from the Tower to their apartment right around the corner of Clavering Boulevard took fifty minutes during rush hour, and Daud was ready for the day to end when he threw the car into park. Billie jumped out and practically ran for the door, while Daud followed at a more sedate pace. The building’s janitor had his apartment right next to the elevator in the lobby, where Billie was knocking already when Daud entered. The janitor was an older gentleman who gladly babysat Muffin for a few coins when Daud was in court. The man opened the door and was nearly thrown out of his own apartment when their monstrosity of a dog came tearing out to greet his humans. While they got slobbered on, Daud made small talk, but thankfully could excuse himself fairly quickly. Muffin disliked the elevator, so he and Billie raced up the stairs. Daud decided his legs were tired, and enjoyed the twenty seconds of gentle humming before the doors opened with a soft ping and he had to deal with a panting child and a drooling dog. 

“You’re slow,” Billie complained, bent over with her hands on her knees, huffing and puffing. 

“And you’re grounded,” Daud countered. Billie made a face, but kept any retort to herself. Inside, she disappeared into her room, probably to pout until she got hungry. He let her, knowing that he’d have to do more parenting tomorrow and could now prepare dinner in peace. It would be sandwiches, he concluded after checking the fridge. He’d need to do some shopping tomorrow. And call his dad, maybe. Ask how he managed to keep Daud in school and out of jail. Daud ate standing at the counter, watching in disgusted fascination as Muffin sat at his feet, looking up in adoration at the ham and cheese sandwich that was steadily getting smaller in his master’s hands. More drooling ensued. So much more. Only after he had finished eating, Daud gave Muffin his dinner, which was not ham or cheese, much to the dog’s momentary disappointment. It lasted for all of two seconds before he started devouring it anyway.   
A soft click alerted Daud to Billie leaving her room. 

“What’s for dinner?” Billie asked quietly. 

“Sandwich in the fridge.”

“Can we order pizza?” 

Daud huffed, caught between annoyance and amusement. When he first got Billie, she wouldn’t even assume that he’d go out of his way to prepare any kind of meal, and was honestly baffled when there was some form of cooking happening every night. It spoke of trust that she made demands like take out now. Even if she was being an insolent little shit about it.

“There is perfectly good food in the fridge that I just made for you, brat. And anyway, you’re not getting pizza while you’re grounded.”

Billie glared, and scoffed, and dragged her feet all the way to the refrigerator. When she flopped onto the couch, plate in hand, she still looked gloomy, but then Muffin threw himself at her side. His big, pining eyes made her hard expression soften. 

They sat in silence, Billie munching her food and petting Muffin (and not-so-sneakily sneaking him bits of ham), Daud reading the paper he didn't have time for this morning. At some point Daud noticed that it was already after eight, and asked Billie, "Why are you still up?"

She shrugged without looking up from her coloring book, and said, "I don't have school tomorrow."

"Yes, as punishment. Go to bed!"

When she got up with an eye roll and her coloring stuff, Daud stopped her. 

"Leave that. You're supposed to be in bed, not stay up in your room. And brush your teeth."

“Fine, I’m going to bed, but I’m taking Muffin with me!” she exclaimed and marched out. Muffin remained on the couch, whacking his tail, only to jump up and barrel after his young mistress when she called him. Daud shook his head and returned to his paper. 

Not half an hour had passed until he heard the click of Billie's bedroom door opening and closing again.

"Daud?" 

"Go back to bed."

She stood at the entrance to the living room, peeking around the corner. "But I'm thirsty," she whined.

"Then get a glass of water and go back to bed."

She shuffled past him, wearing her favorite red pajamas. Daud had bought them on a whim because they had little black skulls on them, and Billie loved them dearly. It warmed the heart he insisted he didn't have. 

"Night," she said on her way back with one of the tall ale glasses in her hands. It was filled to the brim and she was so concentrated on not spilling anything that her tongue was sticking out.

"Good night," Daud answered, watching the balancing act with amusement. Only after he heard the door close again without any exclamations he turned on the tv, zapping through the channels with the volume on low. It took a while, but he finally settled on some brainless action flick that didn't require much attention, and started on the crossword puzzle. Daud wasn't quite sure how much time he willed away like this, but at some point the puzzle was nearly done and he was contemplating the answer to a missing bracket when the word, "Redmoor," whispered in his ear nearly gave him a heart attack. 

"BILLIE!"

"What? It's the answer! We learned that in geography on monday," she defended herself, completely not sorry whatsoever. 

"Why are you up?!"

"I needed to pee and heard your movie, so I wanted to see if you've fallen asleep in front of the tv again."

"I haven't, but you should be out already! That's what you get for chugging half a liter of water in one go."

"I was thirsty."

"Go to bed!"

"But I'm not sleepy," she whined again.

"Billie, I swear to everything that's holy, if you're not back in bed when-" banging at the door cut him off. 

"What the ffff-heck?" Daud mumbled. A glance at the clock revealed that it was already half past ten. He got up with a sigh and walked to the door. 

"Who do you think it is?" Billie asked, curious and a little anxious at the same time.

"Go back to bed, Billie."

"Somebody you pissed off?"

"Language," he admonished halfheartedly. It was probably the weird neighbor again, coming to complain about them _talking_ at this late hour. 

"Maybe it's a murderer," Billie continued like she hadn't heard, still not moving to her bedroom. "Only bad people come knocking when it's dark outside. That's what Mishka's mom said."

"It's not a murderer," Daud said, aggravated, and unlocked the door. He swung it open while giving Billie a _look_, and turned to the open door just in time to be met by pain. The world blinked out of existence for a moment, and Daud found himself on the floor. He looked up at none other than Heyburn towering over him and swaying dangerously, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. His face was angry and mouth moving, but Daud’s ears hadn’t quite taken work up again. But then Billie was at his side, screaming, "Daud!" with heart stopping panic, and Heyburn lifted what was left of his bottle, dripping with blood, so Daud reacted. When Heyburn stumbled towards them, Daud kicked up, right into his stomach. He bent over choking, and dropped his bottle while Daud scrambled backwards, through shards and blood and whiskey, pulling Billie along. Suddenly, a shadow flew over them, right into a cursing Heyburn. It was Muffin. His snarl was truly terrifying, even for drunk out of his mind Heyburn, who started screaming. A wrestling match ensued that Muffin, with his teeth sunk into Heyburn's arm and his considerable weight pressing down, was clearly winning. Daud used the time to get up and pull Billie further away from the scene, over to the kitchen. Now that the first shock had worn off, his face started to hurt like a bitch, and there was so much blood running into his right eye that he had to clench it shut.   
He started fumbling for the phone, but it looked like Muffin would go for the jugular, so Daud yelled, "Freeze!" It made him stop snapping at Heyburn’s face momentarily, but that only prompted Heyburn to start flailing again. Naturally, Muffin latched onto an arm again before it could smack him in the snoot, scrabbling across Heyburn's convulsing body and letting his anger rumble deep in his chest.   
Daud would be damned if somebody screamed for his dog to be put down for gnawing a limb off, especially because of a piece of shit like Heyburn. He had to step in. 

"Billie, call 911!” Daud had to yell over the loud growling and squealing, pushing Billie further away. She didn’t go more than a step, teary eyed and scared, but not ready to leave him to fend for himself. 

"You're bleeding. You're bleeding really bad."

“Okay, listen,” he tried again. “It’s a very important job. You dial 911, and when somebody picks up, you tell them your name and where we live, and that a drunk guy broke into our apartment. Tell them that he’s hurt someone. They'll come and fix this. Can you do that for me?” 

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded shakily and rushed over to the landline next to the fridge. Daud was getting woozy, and a look down at himself revealed just how much blood he had shed already. He staggered over to the cupboard to pull a clean dish rag out and press it against his face. The pain made black spots appear in his vision, but he caught himself again. Billie was dialing while watching him with hawkeyes.

“You're doing just great,” he assured, and made his way back to the door where Muffin was still chewing on his prisoner. 

“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! RUDSHORE!” Heyburn yowled, only to get snarled in the face again. Daud did grab Muffin’s collar, though, just because it looked like the dog wouldn’t hold back much longer, and heaved him off of the drunken man. His jaws did not budge, yanking Heyburn's arm along and making him yowl even louder, and Daud had to bark another freeze order for Muffin to finally let go. Heyburn immediately rolled up into a ball of patheticness. Over the ruckus, Billie’s voice had gotten louder and shriller, until she finally screamed, “MY DAD IS HURT! YOU HAVE TO HURRY!” into the phone, scared and desperate and furious. It was the first time ever she had called him dad. Had Daud not been busy applying pressure to his blood spurting face and keeping the dog from murdering their drunken assailant, he would have gone over there and hugged the ever living crap out of his kid. 

Whatever else was said on the phone was lost on Daud, because he had to pull Muffin further away from the door, and then cops were sprinting down the hallway, and EMT’s were close behind, and questions were flying around. Muffin was not best pleased with all the new, strange people in his domain, but was well trained enough not to jump anybody else now that his main target had been taken away. Somebody took him off Daud's hands at some point.   
The EMT’s decided to put him on a stretcher, which Daud let them do after minimal protest - he _was_ feeling kind of out of it. Daud suddenly realized he couldn't see either Billie or Muffin. So he reached out to grab the arm of the closest cop, a young and rather startled looking man, and asked, “Where is Billie? Where the hell is my kid and my dog?” 

“I, ehm, your daughter is right behind us, sir. She'll be riding on the ambulance with you. The doctors will check her out, too. We put a muzzle on the dog and put him in my car. He’s alright, I think?”

“He needs a steak,” Daud told him. “Give him a steak.” 

“Eh, yes sir. I’ll see to that,” the cop said, and then Daud and Billie were in the ambulance. The ride felt like it passed in a blink, and Billie held onto his hand that the EMT’s didn’t poke an IV into. He squeezed back. Then, suddenly they were in the hospital, and Billie was not on his hand anymore, and the EMT's were not at all happy with him turning his head around to look for her. 

"Billie?"

"Your daughter is in the care of our staff, sir. She'll be back with you in no time, please stop moving!"

"Fuck," Daud said for no particular reason other than that he felt the situation warranted it, and passed out for good. 

~

Consciousness came back slowly. His brain was swimming in a flat pool of jelly while his body felt a distance away, heavy and afloat at the same time. A sound to his left made him open his eyes and turn his head a little. Billie stood next to him, having jumped out of her chair when he started waking. In the other visitor chair was Rudshore senior, deep lines on his face. Billie's eyes were puffy and äred, and she looked angry and worried and scared and happy at the same time.

"Are you okay?" Daud croaked, and Billie threw herself on his chest and started sobbing. He petted her back gently and mumbled assurances that everything was alright, trading a look with his father. 

"We waited for you to wake up. Somebody wouldn't leave earlier," he said quietly. 

"How late is it?" Daud asked. 

"Just after six a.m. I'll take Billie home with me later and put her in bed." He reached out to touch his son's hand that was still rubbing circles on Billie's back. "That was a scary call in the middle of the night."

After a while Billie calmed down, and even later she peeled herself off of him to give him a reproachful look. 

"I told you it was a murderer," she said, and honestly, Daud didn't know how to answer that. Finally he said, "I guess I'll have to check the peephole next time." 

"Nonsense, we're getting you an apartment in a house with a doorman," his father chimed in. Before they could discuss future safety precautions further, though, the door opened and a doctor shuffled in. 

"Ah, you're awake, excellent. How are you feeling?" She asked, taking the chart out of his bed and giving it a once over. She probably learned more about how he felt from that than from what Daud could say. "Like crap?" he tried, though he didn't feel much of anything but tired and floaty at the moment. The doctor smiled. 

"Understandable. The cut was pretty deep and you bled quite a lot, but there was thankfully no damage to your eye. There should be no problems with your vision once everything is healed. Until then, infection is our biggest worry, so we'd like to keep you in for another day or two for observation." 

"And I got that piece of garbage parole," Daud bemoaned. Rudshore senior petted his hand in consolation. The doctor left soon after, and instead a nurse entered with a tray of breakfast. She was in a bubbly good mood, making conversation with Rudshore senior and cooing over Billie, until she asked, “Is your mommy coming to visit, sweety?" 

“No, she’s dead,” Billie replied in the unflinching deadpan only young children and psychopaths could muster. The nurse looked panicked, but Daud was too high to comfort her and Rudshore senior kept up the poker face he had honed in 30 years as a lawyer. When no explanation came, the nurse quickly scuttled away. For a moment, they sat in silence, looking after her. Then Rudshore senior turned back to his son and granddaughter (who had stolen Daud's pudding as soon as the tray was set down, the brat) and rubbed his hands together. 

"So. While you are here recuperating I will have Miss Finch prepare a lawsuit for this," he gestured at Daud's face, "and I will search for a more suitable apartment for the two of you." 

"Dad," Daud started, but was cut off. 

"No, no. You'll need something bigger, anyway. With an office. Don't you think so, too, Billie? Then your dad wouldn't leave all of his paperwork in the way of your drawings anymore." 

"Sure!" Billie said, the traitor. 

"More space for Muffin, too."

"Have you ever tried renting with a dog? My landlord nearly had a meltdown when I brought Muffin home."

"Well, let's buy something then. I'll gladly help you out if it means my only son and only grandchild are safe! That dog deserves a medal for his service tonight."

Rudshore senior wasn't wrong there. Daud had been thinking about buying before, but with Billie coming into his life things had to be postponed until she was settled. Now, though? Then Daud's brain got stuck on something.

"Where _is_ Muffin?" he asked, only vaguely remembering something about a car and a steak from the night before.

"Oh, he is with a nice young police officer. Curnow is his name, I believe. He will hold onto him until I pick him up later." 

Daud wanted to tell his dad to pay the poor guy back for the steak, but again the door opened. Who entered wasn't hospital staff, though, but none other than the Brigmore witch herself. She even looked worried, which was just wrong. 

"Heyburn called," she explained unprompted, eyes raking over Daud's half bandaged face. "He's in this hospital, too. Phoned me out of bed and said he needs a lawyer." 

"Yeah," Daud croaked. 

"I'd consider wisely, Miss Copperspoon," Rudshore senior said, his voice dead serious. "Because I will slap that man with so many charges his grandchildren will still hear it ring," 

"I declined when I heard the story. After last night, I'm sure my firm does not want to be associated with the likes of him. I'm just here to see how Daud is doing."

"_Good_."

“How the hell did you get in here,” Daud asked, just to break up the staring match between Delilah and his father, and dreaded the answer when Delilah’s worried expression morphed into a shit eating grin. 

“I told them I’m your estranged wife.” 

He let that sink in for a moment. Then he said, "I want a divorce."

"But these hard times could remind us of what is really important in life and bring us closer than we ever were before!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to open my heart to you again," Daud told her, and Billie added, "And you're a witch, anyway. Daud can't marry a witch." He loved that kid. 

"Exactly."

"You know, you should move into a house with a doorman," Dwlilah commented idly, watching Daud pet a sleepy Billie who was still sprawled over his chest. 

"Hah!" his father crowed. "That's what I've been saying. We're looking to buy."

"Oh, so am I. My realtor told me there are a few apartments in a nice building in the Estate district fresh on the market. I can give you her number."

"That would be lovely, thank you Miss Copperspoon," Rudshore senior said enthusiastically. Daud did not get a say in it, apparently. Soon after they left, when Billie yawned after every second word. 

~

A few months later, in the middle of their move into a nice four bedroom apartment, Daud could finally stop wearing an eyepatch, much to Billie's dismay. She appreciated the pirate look. A nasty scar remained, which raised his coolness factor at least little to before. He was just setting up his office desk when his father waltzed in, making use of the spare key unashamedly. When he closed the office door, dampening the sounds of Billie and Muffin thundering through the apartment, Daud looked up. 

"What's going on?"

"A judge friend of mine asked for a favor. A pro bono case, and it's right up your alley. I thought maybe you'd like to make your comeback with it." He handed a file over to his son. 

"A wrongful death. A woman died in a hit and run, leaving two kids without any family the authorities could find. Twins. They're originally Serkonan, just moved to Dunwall half a year ago in search of a better life. The driver was drunk, and-" 

"You can stop selling it now, old man. I'm taking it," Daud cut him off, stuck on the page that held pictures of two six year olds. A girl and a boy, Galia and Rinaldo Escobar. A little older than Billie was when she lost her mother. A little younger than when he had gotten her. A knock on the front door pulled him out of his reverie, and he yelled, "Don't you dare open it, Billie!" and marched out. She stood between the mountains of moving boxes, her hands in her sides and a defiant look on her face. Muffin sat next to her, his ears up straight. 

"Nobody but me opens the door," Daud repeated the newly instated rule for the hundredth time. 

"You can't open the door! What if there's a murderer on the other side again?" Billie groused. 

"There's a deadbolt on the door. I won't open it without checking who's there. But I'm the one opening it"

"Fine, you open it, but I check. You stay out of view. I'll tell you if you can come see."

Daud was so perplexed by that answer that he just blinked down at his kid and said, "No." His father laughed.

"Yes."

"_No_!"

From behind the door, their would-be-guest called, "It's Delilah. I just need a second pair of hands with moving my couch."

Billie went to the door, checked that the deadbolt was secured, and cracked the door open to give Delilah a once-over. When she was satisfied that their new upstairs neighbor wasn't hiding a crazed gunman behind her back, she closed the door again and turned to Daud. 

"It's the witch. Don't let her give you sweets," she said, and made space for Daud. He opened deadbolt and door to see Delilah biting her lip to keep the grin down.

"I'll leave the file in your office," his father called after him as Daud followed Delilah out of the apartment.


End file.
